


Me & You Against the World

by Super_Scene_It



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_Scene_It/pseuds/Super_Scene_It
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place during the events of the Civil War, Johnny Storm awakes from his coma to find out that the whole world knows who Spider-Man is. And Peter was the one who told them.</p><p> <i>“My name is Peter Parker, and I 've been Spider-Man since I was fifteen years old.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Me & You Against the World

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing irks me more than the fact that Peter never went to visit Johnny in the hospital and they never got a chance to talk about the whole "Hello world I am Spider-Man" thing. So im just going to give comic writers the benefit of the doubt here and say that there was just way too much going on in that event so they just decided to leave it to the fanfic writers to fill in that gap.
> 
> This takes place during/after this scene ([x](https://31.media.tumblr.com/99eff88c083afe315773609ffe38a796/tumblr_n9liazznD81sa3raco1_500.png)) in Civil War #2

♫ _Drop a heart, break a name_ ♫

♫ _We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team_ ♫

♫ _We're going down, down in an earlier round_ ♫

♫ _And Sugar, we're going down swinging_ ♫

…..♪

 

 

He wakes up to the blaring, yet factually faint, tune of Fall Out Boy's music playing in the background, filling the air around him until its forcing him to familiarize himself with the noise. The conscious part of him wants to hum along with it. But the weariness dominating his entire essence tells him to drown it out completely. The forsaken ability to do so successfully, brings him to a whole new realization.

His heavy eyelids crack open just slightly, patiently waiting for the blurriness to subside. Once his vision materializes to full, natural, crystallized capacity onto the tiled ceiling, his tired blue eyes wandered the unfamiliar territory.

Straining to peer down upon himself, the kink in his neck freezes him midway. More effort was required to shift into a position of better sighting. With a quick glance, the paper-thin white sheets and garment draping along his limp body gave him the answers he was looking for.

He rises; a body appearing so strong, yet feeling so weak. The aches and pains were reaching his receptors from every inch of his battered limbs. Each single movement coupled with a vaguely throbbing headache begged him to condemn himself back to a comfortable state of unconsciousness. It wasn't easy to rebel the urge.

Without much seeking, he found the music streaming from a portable speaker system attached to what he was undoubtedly certain was his own personal Apple device. A swift yank to the cord detaching it from a wall outlet allowed him to revel in the peace and quiet he so desperately needed.

He stumbles out of his bed and wobbles to the door, cold tiles chilling the bottom of his bare feet. With a hand still gripping the knob, his grogginess brings him to his knees before he could make an exit. Suddenly blackness disrupted and swarmed the edges of his vision and a weighted head now felt so very light. Unknowingly, smoke steamed from his colorless palm and control was so far from his reach, it was almost an enigma of fiction.

By the time reality returned as his primary setting, although impossible, he felt the alarming sensations of a cold sweat.

The quick location and aid of crutches buried under each arm helped bring him to his feet with a much sturdier stance as he waddled out into the hallway.

Distant voices became much more distinct with every step. “--are glad Cap's secret Avengers are still around, Darlene.”

It wasn't long until a nearby nurse spotted him, her colored face flushing pale as though she'd seen a ghost. “Oh my God! What are you doing out of bed, Mister Storm? You're suppose to be asleep!”

Johnny's arms tingled from the temporary loss of blood circulation and even with the proper support his legs were still untrustworthy; threatening to give way underneath him at any given second.

He decided he could rest later but first he had to ask. “Does anyone know where my sister went?”

 

The nurse quickly tries to usher him back to his room, “You need to rest,” and he doesn't protest. As they were walking past, a familiar voice reached his ears from the television in the lobby.

“ _My name is Peter Parker, and I 've been Spider-Man since I was fifteen years old._ ”

Johnny's eyes stretched open as wide as they could and he nearly became one with the floor. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, what—what he was seeing.

Clarity escaped him and he was almost certain he was dreaming. “Wuh—what is going on?”

According to the anchorwoman, it was previously recorded footage. On the screen there stood Peter.  _His_ Peter. All awkward and abashed with his tinted eyes and bare face exposed for the entire world to see.

“ _So any questions?_ ”

The theory of deception slipped away like sand between his fingers as it all began to feel very, very real.

With great power comes great responsibility. Spider-Man lived by that motto. It shaped and formed the very being he was today. He always preached about the ramifications; the dangers that would ensue if ever he were to disclose his personal identification, the harms and havoc it would bring into his life and the lives of his loved ones. So what the heck was he doing?

It was unlike Peter. Johnny suspected coercion must have been at play and only one person stuck in his mind: Tony Stark. Of course it isn't fair to accuse someone for something you weren't fairly certain of. And more than likely he had absolutely no right to feel the way he does, but he couldn't help himself. Seeing Stark there by Peter's side where it should have been  _his_ place was insulting to say the least. It pained him more than he could have ever imagined.

The bond he and Peter have forged together over the years perhaps meant something more to him than it did to the latter.

Suddenly his eyes stung and his throat hurt, closing in on him with inadvertent strangled force.

“Oh, god.” Eyes unmoving, Johnny clutched onto the woman for dear life. “I—I—I can't breathe.”

He had to tear his gaze from the TV to spare himself.

 

The other nurses on duty rushed over offering assistance, leading him back to his room. “It's okay, Mister Storm, just take deep, calm breaths.”

 He was restive and uncooperative. “Where's my sister? I need—I need--”

“Mister Storm, your family will be informed. In the meantime, you need to rest.”

 

After endless attempts, whatever remained of the night was sleepless. The current events still rattling in his mind.

 

Hours later, early the next morning, a nurse arrived with a tray of food. An apple, a cup of pudding and a small carton of milk was placed before him. The quality was so poor for his liking, his appetite drifted away in it's entirety. “You have a visitor, Mister Storm,” the nurse told him kindly. Wonderment didn't enslave him, intuitively he knew who it was.

 

 

 

Once Susan entered his room he quickly swallowed the glob of pudding and the first thing he said was: “Peter.”

Sue padded over to his bedside in corrupt silence and sat down beside him.

Her fingers fluttered as her hand hovered over his, seemingly fearful any direct contact would cause more damage than his already critical condition has rendered him in.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, a brave hand finally resting on his, thumb gliding gently along his tense knuckles.

He didn't answer her, instead countering with a question of his own; one he figures was of much more importance. “Peter. Is—is it true?”

He tried to ignore the feeling of desperation bubbling and boiling his blood along the inner linings of his veins.

“Yes.” That one simple word of affirmation nearly sent him over the edge. His own words were suddenly caught in his now dry throat but with much effort he pushed them out.

“I need to see Peter.”

Failure to suppress the instant burst of unsettlement churning at the pit of his famished stomach seemingly forced all the oxygen out of his lungs. Thankfully Susan hadn't noticed his shortfall of breath because, with everything that's been going on, now wasn't a very good time for her to fret over him having a mild panic attack. After all, he wasn't quite sure what was awakening these strange symptoms within him.

“Johnny, he's very busy and with all that he's going through right now, I don't think--”

“Sue, I need to see him!” Judging from the way his sister jumped in surprise and looked around, it was rational to assume she suspected the whole hospital had heard his outburst.

Apprehension sunk in. And although he had regained control of himself, he couldn't quell the pinch of his chest tightening under the thin layer of rough cloth that wrapped and twisted around his body.

She leaned forward, patting his knee reassuringly. “Okay, Johnny. I'll tell him.”

Only then, in the dim light illuminating from the lamp atop the nightstand, did he get a really good look at her. Concerned blond brows rested defeatedly above her exhausted twin blue eyes. The faint creases in her forehead only slightly visible. Even the presence of lightly darkened circles etched beneath her lids signed a state of tiredness. Pessimism is what she had succumbed to. The stress she must be under made him want to collapse.

“How long has it been?” It's felt like no time has passed at all. But from what little he had seen and heard from the news, the world was so different from what he had remembered. His sister was so detached, he feared it had been years.

“Almost 2 weeks,” he was informed wretchedly. It should have brought about relief; a feeling of gratitude it hadn't been longer. But it only filled him with anxiety when the look upon his sister's face told him he had woken up to a nightmare.

“The Registration Act, Sue...”

The doleful outer appearance made another external presentation in the shaky voice of his sibling.

“It passed and...” Sue began but paused in contemplation. Her gloomy eyes fell upon her own hands dejectedly.

“Sue,” Johnny urged her to continue, all the while noting her despondency and preparing for the worst.

“And they've already started sweeping the streets for superheroes who haven't signed,” she finally revealed, much to both of their detriment.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, the extreme severity of the situation finally setting in. “Sue, what's going to happen? What are we going to do?”

“Johnny, don't worry about that. The only thing I want you focused on is getting better and coming home.”

A gentle peck to the small portion of his bare forehead, “Get some rest, little brother,” and then he was left with a vacant bedside and a half emptied cup of chocolate pudding.

 

A little later on Ben Grimm would drop by with his roaring, mirthful laughter so loud it could probably wake the dead. Although he tried, Johnny couldn't mask his elation either.

As the hours flew by they played games of cards, joked, relived old times, and even found themselves falling into casual patterns of playful insults. It was the best form of entertainment.

Ben stayed way past the afternoon visiting hours and pouted and made a huge raucous when the nurses tried to chase him away. But eventually, though not without objections, he made his leave. “Oh, I almost f'rgot. Reed said ta send ya his love.”

Reed was a busy man. Surely Johnny'd understand.

 

After Ben's departure, the day dragged out somewhat tediously. Besides chatting it up with the pretty nurses who would frequent his room to 'check up' on him, there really wasn't much to do.

So when the good news arrived that he would be able to return home in a few days given his condition remained stable, Johnny couldn't wait to be emancipated from the persistent boredom that seemed to imprison him every counting second. The doctor advised him to get some rest and Johnny would nod heedfully. But after weeks in darkness, the last thing anyone would want to do is shut their eyes. Who knows what kind of world he would wake up to next.

 

It was unexpected, but at 9:45 on that same evening, Peter Parker showed up at his doorway. His slim silhouette lingered briefly in the shadows before stepping into the light, uncloaking disheveled hair, a sheepish smile and thin, wrinkled, layered clothing hanging over his broad, lean shoulders. The fresh honorable battle wounds carving faint lines along his lower chin was a bit of a shock. Regardless, the familiar face made Johnny's heart skip a beat.

“I know it's late. I tried to get here sooner, I really did, but I couldn't and--” Peter held up a handful of soiled, shriveled, nearly rotted multicolored orchids. “And these flowers smell terrible. I told the guy I wanted red roses but he didn't speak English very well and kept bringing back pots of cactuses so--”

Johnny silently cut him off with a small, almost shy smile, “Hey.”

The uncharacteristic timidness he suddenly felt in the presence of his friend brought about the notion that he really had been away for far too long. Perhaps his spark was starting to slip.

 

Dumping the flowers into a nearby garbage pale, withered and dried up flower petals fluttering to the floor, the light tread of Peter's boots echoed faintly as he moved closer.

 

“Hey yourself,” Peter said, channeling that part of himself he had buried six feet deep inside his core all those weeks ago when Johnny's flames stopped burning.

Peter dropped down into the cushionless chair near the wall adjacent from the right side of the patient's bed. “So, tell me. How are you?”

Peter's tone hitched as a facade to his usual bantering speech but Johnny could see right through him, he might as well be made of glass.

The other man's eyes were studying him like a chemistry textbook. Hazel orbs jumping around to every last bruise they could spot on his cheek, neck, nose, mouth, and forehead. Even spiraling to his hands and descending lower to examine the rest of him. The look on his face was stuck somewhere between sorrow and disbelief.

“I'm fine,” Johnny lied, feeling a slight tingle near his abdomen with every breath he took. He waited for a response but nothing came. Just tentative eyes still scanning for falsehood.

Besides the sound of the door slowly drifting shut with an echoing _click_ , the silence among them lingered and it quickly turned awkward. Like there was a huge elephant in the room they both were pretending not to see. Needless to say, it felt weird. And it felt weird that it  _felt weird_  because between the two of them quietude was rarely a companion. It dawned on him just then that when this whole thing with the Registration Act first began, aspects of Sue and Reed's relationship suffered. They don't look at each other the way they used to. And Johnny can only hope the same thing doesn't occur between he and Peter as well.

The whole world was falling apart along with everyone in it. It wasn't an easy acceptance, just one that was all too evident he had no inclination to debate. But losing Peter, he wasn't so sure he could handle.

 

Peter was the one who brought it up and Johnny was grateful because he didn't exactly know how to go about doing so. “You know, don't you? I mean, it's only been all over every news channel and newspaper for the past week, so of course you know.”

Johnny felt his chest tighten up again. Except this time it didn't crumble with stupefaction, but with something that felt a little more like disappointment. “You mean about how you revealed that you're Spider-Man and showed your whole face to the entire universe?”

Lips pressed into a tight line, Peter's eyes swept over the blond as his brows raced up towards his hairline. “Why do you say it like that? Are you mad at me for it or something?”

It was tough to say, but the glare of innocence suffocated him with guilt. “No. I'm not mad. It's just...” He clenched his jaw, trying his hardest to shroud his true feelings. “...without me?”

 

Peter sighed, slumping back against the rock, hard backrest, “Johnny, please don't take it personally.”

 

He was powerless against the contortion of raw emotion his features were twisting upon his face, because how could he not? After everything they've been through, the thick and the thin, why wouldn't Peter want him to be a part of the biggest game changer of his entire life? Why wasn't he worth waiting for?

“Please don't do that,” Peter pleaded, his feet shuffling against the floor and his hands scrubbing over his own tense features.

“Do what?” The argumentative sting in his voice slithered out before he could reconsider.

Peter's hands flew off his face in distress, “Don't look at me like that. Like I've done something wrong.”

Johnny quickly rearranged his expression into one of neutrality and attempted to shift his position but the twinge aching in his ribs kept him still. “Did you?”

Restless hands refusing to stay put ran through his messy, dark hair, his undertone doubtful as ever. “I don't know.”

The answer wasn't good enough so Johnny pressed the subject further. “Why'd you do it then?”

Peter took a minute to consider his options before settling on an answer he found sufficient enough. “Because it's the right thing to do.” It was meant to be a statement but carried out as if it were a question.

“But what about MJ and May? Everyone knows who you are now, they're not safe anymore.”

“I was promised they would be fine.”

“How do you know?”

A hesitant response of deep confliction rang in his tone, “I—I don't know.”

“Well, what the heck do you know?”

The brunet's white-pressured fingertips curled solidly around the plastic armrests of the chair. “I don't know! I don't know anything! You're the one who's been telling me to do this for years! So, why are you interrogating me?!”

“Because you swore you'd never! So who made you do it?!” It came out much louder and chastising than he had ever meant for it to, and over from the seat of his chair Peter flinched.

Johnny swallowed hard, making to apologize, but Peter was the one who spoke. “It was my choice.”

Johnny wasn't quite sure if he believed that or not. After all those years and everything he has fought so hard to conceal, how could he just throw it away like that? He always spoke of the consequences. For the safety of his loved ones, he was adamant his identity must forever stay hidden, for a long time even from those he considered a close friend. Even from  _him_. Those countless hours of confidentiality where secrets were shared within the privacy of his bedroom, and here he is going against all of that. Peter's actions couldn't have been one of his own.

“It wasn't an easy decision but it was mine, okay?! So much has happened, so much has changed and I—I don't need to justify myself to you or anybody else!”

The nurses outside who came sprinting to the closed door, peering in through the small window, each arrived with equally concerned faces. They waited until Johnny waved to them, signaling removal wasn't necessary. More than likely they probably believed his visitor was an angry lunatic because to them, the way he was shouting, it must have sounded so. But Johnny knew better. The moment Peter's voice shook, regret couldn't be mistaken for anger.

 

Peter cradled his head in his hands and Johnny, like previously, was hindered by a lost voice and had to force the words out of his mouth. It was a great struggle. Each time his jaw hung, it was muted. What felt like an eternity of silence passes before he would finally be able to work up the nerve to say it.

“I just worry about you.”

The words floated around in the air, bouncing off the walls like a balloon until Peter's response popped it with a needle.

“I know,” he murmured, eyes withdrawn. “And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just—everything's been so stressful lately. With MJ and Aunt May, my job, the people at the Daily Bugle, everything that's going on out there, all the sleepless nights and you--"

He stopped.

And Johnny understood.

Peter didn't have to continue, and Johnny really wished he wouldn't, but he did anyway.

“You. I didn't know how to deal with what happened to you.” Peter's eyes darted up to land on the man before him. “Look. Look what they did to you. How could--”

 

Peter's voice trembled and broke off like he was already on the verge of tears. So Johnny fixed his gaze elsewhere upon a piece of gum stuck and flattened against the leg of Peter's chair, because he honestly didn't know what to say to that. He just couldn't seem to find the words.

Peter dragged his feet over to Johnny's side and his soft hand lifted to rest on his warm, discolored cheek.

Dry blue eyes met hazel glassy ones accompanied by a broken laugh. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to weird you out. It's just—after the first week I was beginning to lose hope and—I just have to make sure I wasn't dreaming.”

Much to Peter's surprise, Johnny leaned in to his welcoming touch, Peter's furrowed brows crinkling in sadness. “Don't you ever scare me like that again.”

 

A jittery hand nervous of lingering for too long was gently pulled away. But before it could drop and slap against Peter's thigh, he was caught by the wrist. His racing pulse throbbed under Johnny's fingertips, an unrelenting grip fearful of his bliss deteriorating in an instant.

“C'mere,” the blond pulled him in, scooting over to make room, because Peter standing here by his side shoveled up and hatched the familiar inner desire to have someone near and close. The constant need made him feel so pathetic.

“Johnny,” Peter sighed in protest all the while slinking his lanky body underneath the sheets beside the other man. It was too small for the both of them, personal space becoming non-existent. But the closeness didn't seem to bother either of them.

One of Peter's bony legs slid across to rest on top of Johnny's and he slumped down low enough so his heavy head could lay comfortably on the other man's shoulder. The weight on a sore bruise made Johnny wince internally. He bit his tongue though, willing to sustain it if only for the sake of the moment.

When Peter glanced over to him, Johnny seized the opportunity and took his friend by the chin and then drove his thumb along the indented gash imprinted just below Peter's bottom lip. The bumpy, scabbed wound was still somewhat fresh. And it ran deep. It would be a shame if it were to scar.

Johnny frowned, “How did this happen?”

Penitent eyes rolled off to the side, “Cap's shield.”

Johnny jerked his hand back as though, ironically, he had just been burned. “What? How--?”

Peter only shrugged, “I don't wanna talk about it.”

Although he wanted to, Johnny didn't pressure the concern.

“This is so much better than that plastic chair,” Peter said permuting the topic, fingernails grazing along the hem of the white sheets distractedly. “And by the way, all those lumps and bruises really bring out the color of your eyes.”

Johnny laughs lightly, careful not to reawaken any newly healed sores, and shoves his friend ever so gently. “Yeah, maybe I should give you some. I bet they'd look great against hazel.”

 

A faint chuckle liberated itself from the brunet's lips, as his eyes lifted skyward. And just like that, seemingly out of nowhere, someone flicked Peter's mood back to seriousness, itching to reveal a concealed confession that's been burdening him like a parasite.

“Johnny, I don't know," he started, "but I may have made the biggest mistake of my whole life. I mean, this whole thing could backfire and people could get hurt and it would be all my fault and—I can't take any of this back! What if I was wrong? What if this whole thing turns out to be one big really bad idea? Then what? What am I going to do? What--”

“Hey, hey.” Johnny nudged him with an elbow to the ribs. “Listen, whatever happens? We'll deal with it. Together. Me and you. Like always.”

Peter's hushed breaths served as a remedy to his conflicting state. And they quietly allowed the jagged pieces of their unconventional lives to fall back together into the perfect little puzzle it always was.

 

Then Peter held out his hand and it was a craving so strong, Johnny was too weak to resist.

 

A smile tugged at the corners of Peter's lips when Johnny's fingers laced into his own and his handsome face enmeshed in the dark strands atop his head. His voice muffled into the thick bush of his unruly hair. “Ya know, if you were really a good friend, you'd totally let me take that sweet new costume of yours out for a ride.”

Peter shifted some,“Yeah? And when you break it who's gonna pay for it?”

Johnny thinks long and hard for a short moment before giving up completely with a huff. “Fine. Whatever. It makes your butt look big anyway.”

Their hearts thud in unison as Peter spins around towards him, fingers still entangled like knots on a string and tired, lazy eyes leveling on his own. A steady smile sketched it's way across his face and suddenly it felt like two weeks too long.

“I really missed you, Torch.”

The world outside of these hospital walls was a place Johnny no longer felt he could play a role in. A country he couldn't protect and defend without faulting and resenting the ones who'd run it. A war was coming; it was brewing underneath the surface. You could smell it in the air. Teams were split. Friendships were tested. Time was ticking down like a bomb to the days when the world would grow grim and dark. Admittedly, the future didn't seem very promising; rather bleak.

But somehow at this very moment, squashed on the flat mattress in this small depressing hospital room, none of that seemed to matter. Because having Peter here by his side gave Johnny a complicated feeling of extreme satisfaction and fulfillment that absolutely nothing could trump.

“I missed you too, Pete.”

Strangely enough, waking up after nearly two weeks in a coma, of all people, Peter Parker's face was the one he wanted to see the most.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't think the world understands just how much i love these two ridiculous stupid idiots *wraps them up in a blanket*


End file.
